I am a professor of psychology at Gotham University. I have worked as a specialist in psychiatry, dissociative identity disorder and phobic phenomenon.

I recently conducted a psychiatric examination of Mr. Bruce Wayne as part of "Case Literature Involving Trauma Orchestrating Repressed Individual Schizophrenia" — a study dedicated to understanding the psycho-sexual heroic fantasies of victims of childhood trauma, although I am still undecided about the acronym I created.

For his own protection, Mr. Wayne had been kept at Arkham Asylum in a drug-induced comatose state for six months. I hoped to revive him for possible rehabilitation. The session began with an injection of a mixture of the omega 1 specific indirect GABA agonist Zolpidem and the psychostimulant Methylphenidate. Then I gave one to Mr. Wayne. Due to previous violent episodes and a paranoid insistence on anonymity, the patient was securely strapped into a restraining chair and had his face covered with a dark mask before being revived. For the safety of asylum personnel, an assistant and I were the only ones present during the examination.

A transcript of the examination and interview follows. I've identified my statements in italics, statements by my assistant in bold italic, and Mr. Wayne's statements in "quotation marks with normal type."

"A hospital? Where's my wallet? The last thing, the last thing I remember is going shopping for new tights. What hospital is this? This room is so dark and gothically depressing. Reminds me ofhome."

I'll ask the questions, Mr. Wayne. I am Dr. Crane, and my assistant and I are here to help you. But please don't struggle, the bindings will hold, I assure you. Now I understand that you have certain, shall we say, unorthodox beliefs about yourself and your abilities. My notes, let me see, ah, my notes say—

(The patient struggled against his bindings, but his efforts were in vain. His cries of desperation at not being able to self-relieve a testicular itch briefly covered the distressful cries and muffled screams of other residents of Arkham Asylum. Like many of the patients, he appeared unwilling to accept the futility of his ineffectual efforts and admit his helplessness.)

(At this point the patient struggled most violently. My assistant gave him an injection of a safe and calming analogue of the anesthetic agent phenylcyclohexylpiperidine, and then injected him with the strong hypnotic and powerful sedative and skeletal muscle relaxant Flunitrazepam. Shortly thereafter he calmed down significantly, and even offered to buy a round of drinks, which I refused.)

Childhood trauma

Now, Mr. Wayne, I would like to get to know and understand you a little better. From my files here it says that you claimed to be an orphan. Is this correct?

"Wh....who...."

Who hit you?

"Who shot me?"

That was my assistant; she gave you a sedative. Please tell me about your parents.

"My parents? My...one night when I was a child, a mugger killed my mother and father."

Tell me about that night.

"I was...my mind...what drugs did you give me?...Can I have some more?...Where are my tights?...I was eight years old. We just left the movie theater where we saw...I don't remember. I think it was The Mark of Zorro. Or was it Dracula?"

Yes, your files say you mentioned Zorro in a previous interview — although in another session you claimed you were watching the opera Die Fledermaus. But Zorro is a fascinating character, a masked crimefighter — Frank Langella played the part. Let's see, that came out in the mid-1970s, in your childhood. Go on.

"No, before that."

Before? There was the Zorro television show with the actor who later played the father in Lost in Space. But that was in the 1950s — before you were born.

"The drugs...I'm feeling confused...Perhaps if you mix me a margarita."

My assistant will get you one. Now we should move on to what happened. According to my notes, you claimed a mugger named Joe Chill—

"No, I never knew his name. Joe Chill. Mr. Freeze. I wonder...."

It's too late to wonder now, Bruce.

"Who said that?"

That was my assistant. Please excuse her comment; she's an intern.

Sorry. Do you want salt on the glass?

"No, no salt, and mix one for yourself..."

Mr. Wayne, let's move on. How did you come to believe your parents were dispatched by a criminal?

"Because they were! We were leaving the theater—or the opera—by the back door when a masked figure jumped from the shadows and demanded my father's wallet and my mom's pearl necklace. My father quickly pulled me behind him, and I tripped and fell into the shadows of the alley. As my parents handed over their belongings, the thief snatched them away and shot them both with a pistol before fleeing.... My parents died in my arms."

That sounds rather dramatic. Was it raining, Mr. Wayne?

"Why yes, it was. A warm shower covered me as I wept. The light from an adjacent window lit my profile as a sorrowful tune played softly in the background."

Of course, but what you are describing here Mr. Wayne — the mugging, the golden shower, and the four-minute back story introduction — was in fact an episode of Law and Order.

Dissociative identity disorder and sexual confusion

"You're confusing me Dr....Crane? Isn't that the doctor on Cheers and Frasier? Why can't I see you, anyway?"

Because you insist on always wearing a dark mask — it cuts off your peripheral vision, and as you're restrained....but it can be removed, if you like.

Are you certain? Could not that be a subconscious acknowledgment of your mental condition, and the mask a device to hide your fear of exposing yourself, Mr. Wayne? But according to my notes, you previously claimed a different "superhero" title. You said you were "The Caped Crusader."

"Catwoman. And she wasn't my lover she was my enemy. Ally. Enemy. No, she was—"

If Catwoman wasn't your lover, then how did the two of you have a daughter, Huntress?

"Alternate earth. But I don't remember—"

Are you certain, Mr. Wayne, that you aren't using "alternate earth" as a delusional dissociative scapegoating projection for your behavior? In layman's terms, "that wasn't me; that was a different me?"

"No. I mean yes. Or no — you're confusing me. Where's my drink?"

Back to Lex Luthor; is that another one of your supposed enemies? You know he's actually a major contributor to Arkham Asylum.

"He is? So that's why I'm here! And I suppose the Joker and...wait, I've been talked to by so many people....didn't one of the 'doctors' who interviewed me before have a very pale face? I mean very pale."

There may have been an albino on staff; let me check my notes....Ah, here. The list of those who have interviewed you includes Dr. Victor Fries—

Psychological resistance and paranoid schizophrenia

"Wait; everyone who's talked to me was an arch villain? Then who are you, Dr. Crane?"

Really, Mr. Wayne; everyone who tries to help you is not a supervillain. Your extremely phobic reactions to any effort at administering assistance have led you to create straw man arguments against any advice that—

"Phobic? Straw man? Now I know who you are! You're my enemy The Scarecrow! You're not a psychiatrist; you're an arch villain!"

I have a doctorate in psychology from Metropolis State Psychiatric Hospital which—

"—which does not give you the authority to prescribe drugs! Only a medical doctor can do that. And how can you get a doctorate degree from a hospital?"

I am qualified, and in any case my intern is a psychiatrist and thus also qualified. As as matter of fact, Dr. Harleen Quinnzel—

"You are an arch villain! And you aren't qualified; I researched you—before I was kidnapped and put here. You only got your degree because you slept with your professors!"

Like you slept with Robin?

"That was only an experiment! But yours wasn't. Now I recognize your voice. I've heard you here, screaming in the night. And not from pain. How many 'patients' have you seduced here, willingly or unwillingly? I'm getting out of here, now! And you can't stop me. I'm an expert escapologist, and a martial artist, and an inventor, and a billionaire who could buy this entire asylum!"

Conclusion

(Mr. Wayne continued with more verbiage which can only be classified as an exhibition of criminal insanity. With no other viable option, I directed Dr. Quinnzel to administer a heavy dose of Flunitrazepam to return Bruce Wayne to a much calmer state of mind. My recommendation is that revival not be attempted for at least another six months. Mr. Wayne's final words before returning to a comatose state were. . .)